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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408194">signs of a lifetime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartspound/pseuds/heartspound'>heartspound</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Faustian Bargain, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magical Realism, Memory Loss, Non-Linear Narrative, Strangers to Lovers, but it's more complicated than that, lee chan gets what he wants (and it backfires), lost love montage and amnesiac resonance à la eternal sunshine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:06:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartspound/pseuds/heartspound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where deals can be struck between humans and gods, Chan meets Wonwoo for the first time - a second time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeon Wonwoo/Lee Chan | Dino, Kim Mingyu/Lee Seokmin | DK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>signs of a lifetime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest2">SVTRarePairFest2</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong><br/>there's something weird about Jeon Wonwoo, and Chan is going to figure out exactly what it is.</p><p>
  <span class="small">I hope I kept the essence of the prompt. this is <i>heavily</i> inspired by The Invisible Life of Addie Larue by V.E. Schwab. you don't need any knowledge of the book to read this but if you've read it, you might have an idea what this is about.</span>
</p><p><span class="small"></span><strong>WARNINGS</strong>: heavy alcohol use/binge drinking, generalized anxiety (the anxiety isn't explicitly written and there are no panic attacks but it's there)<br/><span class="small">if you think I missed something that needs a warning, please don't hesitate on letting me know!</span></p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chan has yet to find anything with the right amount of stubbornness to persevere through winter. Anything that isn’t the curse looming over him—brighter than the Sun itself, blinding anyone who dares to come close.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">chapter's title is from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LbFdY6vGsQ">What Do I Call You by Taeyeon</a>.</span>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span class="small">I float too much to wander, like you, in the real world. I envy it but that’s the dealio—you’re a train and I’m a trainstation and when I try to guess your trajectory I end up telling my own story.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="small"> <em>—The Long and Short of It, Richard Siken</em> </span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>DECEMBER 31st</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2021</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The night lends itself to trouble and Chan steps outside to meet it.</p><p>There's something to be appreciated about nights like this, nights where the Seoul streets are filled with couples and families roaming around, street vendors behind their carefully organized stalls, groups of people queuing up in front of food trucks. The brightness of New Year’s Eve overshines the cursed spotlight over his head and he’s glad, grateful even that he can let himself look around without being seen and take it all in.</p><p>The hum of voices meddles with music playing in shops and makes its way to his ears, past his earphones, and he picks up his pace, impatience creeping upon him because midnight might take his curse away, a year after it granted it.</p><p>Chan moves through the streets of Seoul with a sense of familiarity that comes from existing in it. A mutable city shaped by experiences, its map changing depending on who traces it.</p><p>The lights get thinner and thinner as he walks, and so do the sidewalks as he gets to a series of narrow alleys he knows well, until he sees it, nestled on a corner. The Red Door comes into his line of vision and he feels it, from the tip of his fingertips, rolling through him like a wave.</p><p><em>Ah, there it is</em>. The promise of normalcy.</p><p>Seungkwan stands by the door, fingers tapping rapidly on the screen of his phone and making Chan’s vibrate in his pocket. From the way he sways on his feet he's already a few drinks in and Chan smiles under his mask, taking off his earphones and pocketing them.</p><p>“Hyung!” Chan calls from across the street, careful of the word choice. At the sound of his voice, Seungkwan looks up from his phone with a small furrow of his brows but when his eyes land on Chan crossing the distance between them, he brightens up.</p><p>As much as Seungkwan complains about unpunctuality, he always waits for him.</p><p>“Honorifics will get you nowhere if you only use them when it's convenient," Seungkwan mutters as he wraps Chan around his arms, “I’ve been freezing my ass off for seven minutes.”</p><p>"I missed you," Chan says into the hug. Their apartment feels empty without Seungkwan in it and like this, he gets the tangential proof he’s back—other than the coat and scarf Chan noticed hanging from the coat rack when he went back home after closing the studio.</p><p>Seungkwan pouts, tipsy or at least getting there already. “You weren’t replying to my texts and I was starting to get worried. Where the hell were you?”</p><p>“Hell,” Chan says, smiling at him sweetly and Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “It’s not that late, I just wanted to walk,” he excuses. He knows it has to be fifteen minutes late tops.</p><p>Seungkwan scoffs, no actual heat behind it because it's <em>him</em>—his care and affections interweaved with nagging—and turns away from him, opening the door to the bar. He lets it close when Chan is crossing the threshold and Chan stops it from smacking his face, rolling his eyes but accepting it because he is late after all.</p><p>An artificial set of lights coats the bar in warm colors and Chan squints his eyes to get used to them, looking for a familiar face. Following Seungkwan, he takes off his coat and finds it. Hansol greets him with a lifted hand from the corner of the bar, where he sits comfortably, the back of his head resting on the wall.</p><p>That’s their spot, so to say. Their corner of a corner. It’s where they spend a lot of their evenings lately, talking about everything and anything. But the bar is crowded and Chan is surprised to see Hansol managed to get that specific table for themselves.</p><p>As foreign as The Red Door is to locals, this corner of East Itaewon gets filled to the brim on evenings when time feels liminal, a season of not knowing what’s next.</p><p>Chan himself doesn’t remember how he found it, his memory as muddy as the day he came across it. He figures the bar draws people in. If it’s because of its quaint vibes or if it’s simply because this is where souls come to gather when they get lost in the enormity of Seoul, Chan doesn’t know.</p><p>He said so to his friends the first time he brought them. Seungkwan’s final verdict was that the drinks were cheap and the bathroom smells nice, and Hansol simply told him he thought their new wave playlist was neat. So they keep coming back.</p><p>Chan greets Hansol casually—he says <em>hey</em> and Hansol fist bumps him.</p><p>Chan gets comfortable on the chair and Seungkwan says he’s going to the toilet. "You’re coming back with a bottle of makgeolli to share, right?" Chan says.</p><p>"There's no way you're being serious. You got here late, you go get it yourself," Seungkwan says but his hand is already gone from view, hidden in his cardigan pocket, and if Chan's calculations are right, his fingers are hovering over his wallet.</p><p>"What kind of hyung are you denying me a drink on New Year's Eve?"</p><p>Seungkwan gives him one of his trademark glares, mouth slightly open and tongue catching behind his front teeth. “Only because it’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t get used to it.”</p><p>Chan snorts. “I love you.”</p><p>“One of these days I’ll eat you for breakfast," Seungkwan replies and it sounds a lot like a declaration of love coming from someone who only holds grudges when he cares.</p><p>“I’ll pay for the next one.”</p><p>“You better," he says before heading towards the bathroom.</p><p>Chan turns around to see Hansol smiling at Seungkwan’s back, amused and unaware that their friend is most likely not letting him drink a drop of the makgeolli.</p><p>“We have exactly sixteen days," Chan says once Seungkwan is out of earshot.</p><p>Hansol turns to look at him, his eyebrows going up. “I’m sorry, what?”</p><p>“I think <em>you</em> are gonna be Seungkwan’s menu for breakfast if you don’t figure it out in the next minute.”</p><p>Chan can see when it clicks in Hansol’s brain, his mouth opening wide in understanding. “Ahhh, yeah yeah. Of course I didn't forget. I was talking with Myungho hyung about it yesterday."</p><p>“Did you ask the hyungs about the banner?" Chan says with carefully crafted nonchalance, embarrassed that he needs to ask Hansol to play messenger. Any other time, he could have asked them himself, but he doesn't know how to move around some people anymore. He’s lost all sense of rhythm, but it could all be worse if it was obvious, so he hides what he cannot change.</p><p>"Yeah, they're coming to my place to help us out. Don't worry." Oh, Chan will worry about them being there. That's the thing. "Got no idea how they will keep quiet—or like, lie but…" Hansol raises his shoulders as if saying <em>nothing we can do about it</em> and throws a peanut inside his mouth.</p><p>Seungkwan comes back bearing drinks and news about his family in Jeju, how everything is back home and how much he already misses it. Chan drinks it all in but his mind is wandering off and he keeps looking at the time in his phone, jittery energy distracting him.</p><p>From the corner of his eyes, he catches someone else looking at him, a man sat on the bar by himself. His gaze lingers on Chan, soft and wistful. Chan is used to that look.</p><p>That's what the curse entails: you will be <em>loved</em> but no one will see <em>you</em>. Not because he's invisible, but because of whatever image people craft in their minds when they see him, molding him to their desires to be perfect for them.</p><p>He had an entire leap-year to find in which ways to dance around his curse. There was a contract but he never saw anything tangible—no paper, no deadlines, no clear conditions. Nothing. But he doesn’t need to learn its mechanisms in detail as long as he can cancel it out with another wish.</p><p>When Chan does a double-take, he's not being stared at anymore. </p><p>Seungkwan looks behind himself, too obvious when stretching his neck, but the man at the bar, drawn into himself, doesn’t notice. “Who do you have your eyes on now?” Seungkwan says, raising his eyebrows just to be annoying. Hansol is more subtle when he searches with his eyes, curiosity getting the best of him too.</p><p>"I'll be right back," Chan says and Seungkwan tells him to not do anything he wouldn't do as he often does. It’s good advice but Chan has never been one to follow it.</p><p>He sits one barstool away from the stranger and studies him with no reservations. Long face, longer legs. He’s terribly handsome; gaze lucid and velvety like the night sky, shoulders just as wide. There's no way to ignore him.</p><p>Chan leans forward with his elbows onto the bar, waiting to see who will move first. The man looks up and gives him another of a strangely gentle, polite smile and Chan responds in kind with one of his. "Excuse me, do I know you?" he breaks the silence between them, not letting him look away from him again.</p><p>The stranger tries and fails to hide a smile, his lips tug up, making his nose scrunch up. "Is that line your go-to?"</p><p>"Ah no... I was genuinely asking." Chan says and means it—he reminds him of the night itself. Maybe more human in the way he hides himself, more tangible in the way the night time isn’t. The stranger leans back, fixing his wire-rimmed glasses, and shakes his head slightly, signaling that no, they haven't met before.</p><p>Chan is about to say something when the bartender stands in front of him. “What can I get you?” she asks, sparkly eyes staring back at him.</p><p>“I’m good, thank you.” Chan smiles but she insists and he has to refuse her again, reassure her that <em>he's good, thank you</em>. Another customer that has called her twice taps his fingers on the bar one more time, and she leaves.</p><p>Just as he looks at the stranger, Chan notices him curiously searching for something on his face, and Chan is tempted for a fraction of a second to let his curiosity ruin it. What do you want from me? Could I give it to you? It’s simple, really, to ask. But to put it on the table would mean whatever it is they're playing would end.</p><p>"Sorry," Chan says instead, searching too, "You just looked familiar."</p><p>"Don't worry about it, I get that a lot," the stranger says, taking a sip from his drink and smiling smugly around the glass. "I was, in fact, hoping you were flirting."</p><p>It feels like a game. Chan notices both of them are careful, paying close attention to their steps before taking the next. It hasn't felt like this in a long time, and Chan's interest piques.</p><p>One step leads to another. Chan doesn't feel like tiptoeing around anymore and sits on the stool next to his, says something that makes the stranger slightly tip his head back, laughing silently. They make small talk but Chans gets curious, gets greedy and wants to hear his laugh, wants to know what causes it. It’s like a guessing game.</p><p>The stranger tells him this isn’t exactly his scene and Chan asks, “Then, what are you doing here?”</p><p>“Trying my luck.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They are in no rush, but there's an urgency to the way the stranger kisses Chan.</p><p>Every point of contact evokes a backdrop of glistening synths in his stomach; delicate fingertips on Chan's hips, touching the soft skin under the hem of his turtleneck where it rode up. Lips on his chin, his jaw. It’s oddly sweet for their position under the colored lightbulb of this bathroom, painting them a crimson red.</p><p>Chan guides him by the back of his neck, the tip of his fingers touching the ends of soft hair, and watches their reflection on the mirror. He's leaning against the wall, not caring if it has been touched by worse things, seen worse things.</p><p>"I didn't get your name," Chan says and suppresses a giggle, blurry around the edges even if he only had two drinks.</p><p>"And I didn't get yours," he murmurs, pulling back just to kiss him again on the lips, unhurried this time. "That makes us even."</p><p>“Chan,” he tells him quietly in between kisses, not sure if he hears anything with the noise outside but the man gives him a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment and that’s enough for Chan. They’re not making out against a bathroom wall to get to know each other.</p><p>"Nice to meet you, Chan-ssi," he says when they pull apart to breathe. Forehead against forehead, hands on hips, on shoulders.</p><p>“This is ridiculous,” Chan laughs, his eyes closed. "I think we're past the need of formalities."</p><p>"Are we now?" He asks, breath fanning over his lips. Chan meets his eyes to find him looking at him in a way that should make him feel wanted, and Chan kisses him quickly because he wants to feel it. Wanted.</p><p>Their fronts brush against each other and Chan runs his fingers under the man’s sweater, finding toned muscle. The stranger moans softly into his mouth, a cloying sound that Chan receives gladly. He pulls him even closer, trapping himself against the wall.</p><p>It’s bordering on desperation, the way they touch each other.</p><p>The stranger trails his soft palms higher on his sides and draws back to press a line of barely-there kisses on Chan’s neck, almost reverent and Chan holds back a noise. “What was your name, again?" he asks, almost hesitant, not trusting his voice to not.</p><p>The stranger falters for a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough to notice.</p><p>Chan did something <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>He tenses and to his surprise, the stranger does too.</p><p>It doesn't go unnoticed with how close they are to each other.</p><p>He wanted the truth, someone to notice his inadequacy—but he noticed someone else’s instead. “Who are you?” Chan asks, frowning, and starts to pull back slowly in time to see the light in the stranger’s eyes die out, the shiny film over his irises clearing out. The spell is gone, even if for a moment.</p><p>Just like that, this man he doesn’t know is navigating outside the borders of Chan's curse, when Chan himself has never felt the edges of it. A chill runs down his spine. “Are you—?” There’s a knock on the door, a voice looming over the noise outside, saying whoever’s inside is taking too long.</p><p>The stranger doesn’t say anything, only offers a kind, sad smile, at odds with everything running through Chan’s mind. They hear more knocks, more incessant this time, and the stranger breaks eye contact, turning towards the sound. “I’m leaving first,” he whispers.</p><p>“They’re right outside?” Chan says, dazed.</p><p>He wants the truth but the stranger opens the door and closes it behind him without another word.</p><p>Chan follows close behind but isn’t fast enough because he’s gone, he disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>The woman in front of him looks pissed but her expression softens when she sees Chan. What could have been a threat to sue him for public indecency, softens, morphs into: “Oh, I’m <em>so</em> sorry.” And Chan is stuck with her, trying to convince her that he’s the one who should be sorry. There’s no use, she bows her head for the fifth time and offers to buy him a drink. She isn't even going into the bathroom.</p><p>Chan should feel sorry for her, it isn't her fault she feels the need to apologize but he isn't paying attention to her, not really. His eyes roam around the bar, but there are far too many people. He can't find him.</p><p>"Have you seen the guy that came out before I did?" Chan asks, trying to get the woman to think past the fog but she shakes her head, disoriented. His thoughts are all disarranged too so he understands, tells her it's fine when she apologizes one last time.</p><p>He falls back into the spot he knows. “Did you see him leave?”</p><p>Seungkwan takes a moment to process he’s being talked to, eyes heavy with alcohol. “Who?” he asks and looks at Hansol, trying to understand, but Hansol is distracted by default and they find their mutual confusion funny. They snort in unison, always becoming one when they’re drunk enough to soften and mesh with each other.</p><p>He wishes he’d accepted the drink the girl offered to him as an apology.</p><p>“Never mind,” Chan says and because he wants to know, because he needs to feel lighter, feel brighter, he asks, “Just how much did I miss?”</p><p>Chan gets soju for all of them. It doesn’t take long to get to the point where Seungkwan and Hansol are. It never takes long—they’re always near reach. But his mind is somewhere else, far gone.</p><p>It’s been a damned year, and he just got his wish snatched away as soon as it was granted.</p><p>Everything starts to fuzz at the edges and they get even more soju, just because. A bottle is put in front of him at the bar and the bartender looks at Chan with sparkly eyes. “This one’s on the house,” she winks, her hand lingering on his, and that’s when the sickly, wrong feeling comes in full force.</p><p>It’s a lot harder to shake than the bitter taste of soju at the back of his throat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>JANUARY 1st</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2021</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Chan wakes up heavy.</p><p>Foreign thoughts come in uninvited, dragging his limbs down. So translucent that he can't take hold of them, they slip through his mind and don’t let him fall asleep again. Chan can't tell apart what's real from what's a mere illusion, a dream. The <em>Night</em> is there, speaking in hushed, deep voices to him—promising things. His stomach pulls uncomfortably.</p><p>He tosses and turns around in his bed, hoping he'd eventually fall asleep but he's shivering. A single drop of sweat rolls down his temple, and he feels sticky all over. He throws some of his blankets and pillows to the floor, but it doesn’t help. It's too cold.</p><p>In his daze, he thinks to himself he might be sick, or hungover, or cursed. All three of them.</p><p>He sits down on the bed and his head pulses, protesting and telling him <em>stop, lie down</em> but he ignores it as he makes his way to the bathroom quietly, a little shaky on his knees. Chan ignores his reflection in the mirror too and turns on the cold water in the shower.</p><p>The moment the water hits his body, he hisses, immediately regretting it. But he’s more lucid now so he endures the cold for a minute and only then he turns on the hot water.</p><p>It’s awfully quiet and he waits for a sound, any interruption to the off-putting hum of the city. Seoul is never silent but it gets quiet sometimes, amplifying the sense of lack.</p><p>Chan lets the lukewarm water run, standing under it, and stares at the white tiles until he’s fully awake.</p><p>He drinks water in the kitchen, willing the hangover away. As if being healthy now would counteract all the drinks he mixed the night before, he reaches for the jasmine tea bags in the cabinet and makes a mental note to get coffee beans for Seungkwan because they’re running out. The only coffee in sight is the untouched jar of decaf blend that Seungkwan tried once and despised.</p><p>Even the sound of water boiling and the kettle reverberating with the force of it feels like too much. He accidentally chooses the wobbly chair he’s been meaning to fix for a month to sit on and it threatens to give up, but he stays put, occasionally rubbing his temples.</p><p>He stretches his body to the side and sees Hansol sleeping on the checkered couch, mouth slightly open and face serene—not so different from when he’s awake. Chan forgot for a moment he came back with them, but memories, as blurry as they can get, always come back to him. It’s the way his own mind likes to mock him like <em>here, this is what you wanted to forget</em>.</p><p>Chan recalls the night—he always does. The three of them made their way to the heart of Itaewon, to an underground basement club that attracted a whole different crowd than the bar did. It was loud, dizzying. Easy to disappear for a while in it. Everyone on the central dancefloor counted down, and he was too drunk, lost amidst a sea of hot, sticky bodies.</p><p>Midnight came and went, and Chan turned twenty-three.</p><p>Only now he begins to understand his inevitability in life.</p><p>He loses time mindlessly replying to kind texts and sending some of his own, the quietness ready to swallow him up in one bite like he’s nothing when Seungkwan wakes up.</p><p>Chan hears the soft sound of doors opening and closing, the faucet running and in no time, Seungkwan appears from their narrow hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks, walking towards him.</p><p>“Trying to feel human,” Chan says, sipping on his tea and grimacing at how sweet it tastes now that it’s gone cold. "Couldn't sleep.”</p><p>"You should have come to bed with me, you know I don’t mind," Seungkwan says absentmindedly, going through their cabinet, and curses under his breath when he notices he’s running out of coffee beans to make french press coffee.</p><p>Chan opens the fridge, grabs two of the bottles of water, filled directly from the faucet and labeled with the stored date by Seungkwan himself. They’re outdated, and the other bottles are empty, proof that Chan was the only one in their apartment for a week.</p><p>Chan leaves one bottle on the counter to return it to room temperature because Hansol stopped drinking cold water—thanks to living with Minghao—and wordlessly passes the other to Seungkwan who takes a gulp of water before he presses his temple against the cold wall of their kitchen. “I’m gonna die.”</p><p>Chan smiles, despite himself. "You are not.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Snow hardly ever sticks in Seoul, the white days are fleeting, short-lived as most things are in a city this big. The powdery blanket over the buildings and streets melts fast, one blink, two blinks and it’s gone.</p><p>Chan has yet to find anything with the right amount of stubbornness to persevere through winter. Anything that isn’t the curse looming over him—brighter than the Sun itself, blinding anyone who dares to come close.</p><p>He wishes he could go back in time, talk some sense into himself but he used up his only wish already, gave it away along with a kiss a year ago. There’s so much he regrets.</p><p><em>This is what you wanted</em>, the <em>Night</em> reminds him, whispering it in his ear and Chan tries to shake the feeling off as he walks, tilting his head to the right side, a nervous tick he needs to get rid of.</p><p>He likes to taunt him, but never makes himself seen, only speaks to him through riddles and in dreams like it's some kind of sick game to him. It might be.</p><p>“You okay?” Hansol asks on their way to the convenience store.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chan says, a truth in a lie. His own breath fogs the tip of his glasses and he holds back a sigh to avoid blocking his sight even more as they walk.</p><p>The soft steps next to him are comforting, like everything about Hansol is. Moments with him make his days simple. Bearable.</p><p>Estranged in spring, once he began to understand he was cursed, Chan asked him what he saw in him and Hansol replied, "A friend." Simple as that.</p><p>Chan shouldn’t be so puzzled why he’s seemingly unbothered by the curse because Hansol could stand on the Sun and even then, it wouldn't make him falter.</p><p>“This headache is killing me,” Hansol admits, face devoid of emotion, his tired eyes the only hint of the massive hangover he’s carrying. “Will I die?”</p><p>“Eventually,” Chan says, which makes Hansol smile. “You’re hanging out way too much with Seungkwan.”</p><p>“When are we not?”</p><p>They only stepped outside in search of an open convenience store to get pickles for themselves and lemons for Seungkwan, who thinks drinking pickle juice to cure a hangover is just plain nasty. He might be right, but this one feels wrong, stronger than the usual headache after a night out, like he swallowed something heavy and it’s trying to gnaw its way out.</p><p>It thrashes in Chan’s stomach and only because he’s with Hansol, he lets it out. “I think I dreamed about the guy from last night.”</p><p>Hansol frowns, scratching his cheek. “Did we meet someone?”</p><p>“Yeah—I mean, you didn’t, I did. But you must've seen me talking to him at the bar.” Hansol looks thoroughly confused even if he wasn’t that drunk at the time, unlike Seungkwan. “He was like this tall, wore wire-rimmed glasses, had monolid eyes, straight brows,” Chan lists but Hansol looks as lost as Chan feels.</p><p>"I have no idea who you’re talking about."</p><p>"He was impossible to miss like the guy was all by himself. <em>On New Year's Eve</em>."</p><p>"Nothing wrong with that though,” Hansol shrugs and pauses for a moment. “What was his name, again?” he asks, making Chan want to bury himself in the first pile of snow they come across that hasn’t completely melted yet, frozen on the corner of the street.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says but Hansol doesn’t judge.</p><p>“But are you sure I saw him?”</p><p>Chan thinks of the stranger, how he was able to be swift in the tricky situation they were in, getting past the woman outside the bathroom without being seen. How effortlessly he slipped away. “I… I‘m not.”</p><p>Hansol seems to think about it for a moment and then he chuckles, “Man, how fucked up were we last night?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>JANUARY 8th</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2021</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mingyu reappears from the crowd, hands full of drinks. Four to be exact. Seungkwan isn’t far behind him, both of them bickering about something Chan can’t catch from his seat. Mingyu tries to wave him off and the weirdest looking drink he’s holding spills on his shirt.</p><p>“Not again,” Minghao complains next to Chan, loud enough to be heard over the music. Seungkwan looks like he is about to smack Mingyu on the head but one of the drinks he’s holding almost falls to the floor. “I should’ve gone myself.”</p><p>Seokmin laughs from the other side of the table, the sound muted by the heavy bass resonating in Chan’s ears. “At least they tried,” he says, leaning towards Hansol, eyes never leaving Mingyu.</p><p>“Tried what?” Mingyu unceremoniously drops next to Seokmin as he puts the drinks on the table, and Seokmin puts his hand on his hip to stabilize him. His uncoordinated movements result in the drinks covering the table in different colors, and Minghao shaking his head in mourning.</p><p>Half of a pink drink got lost, spilled on its way to their table. Seokmin takes it, careful not to spill more. He whispers something in Mingyu's ear and Mingyu hits him playfully on the shoulder, almost making him choke on his drink.</p><p>“There’s no hope for him anymore,” Minghao says to no one in particular, but he’s looking at Mingyu with fond eyes.</p><p>Mingyu rubs small circles behind Seokmin’s back in apology. “I think he’s just a little overenthusiastic,” Seokmin smiles, painfully genuine, and pinches Mingyu’s thigh. “Like an overgrown puppy.”</p><p>Mingyu becomes so flustered from all the attention that he doesn't know if he should make himself small or big. He settles for something in the middle, hiding behind Seokmin and saying something that sounds a lot like <em>stop </em>and <em>in front of the others </em>and <em>like I'm not right here</em>. Chan can't be sure with all the noise. He's glad for it.</p><p>"Okay, big boy," Seokmin says and plants a kiss on his cheek that would have been loud had they been somewhere else.</p><p>“Gross!”</p><p>Sounds of agreement and faked disgust erupt from Chan’s end of the table, making Mingyu flip them off, his blush more evident when he tries to hide it. Seokmin is smiling at him with such affection that makes Chan’s insides churn. There are some things that can't become background noise, too loud to be ignored.</p><p>Mingyu uncurls himself from him and offers to pay for the next round, and their table becomes alive with cheers.</p><p>Mingyu <em>and </em>Seokmin sit side by side, or more like, on top of each other, so there's less space between them and more space for Hansol. Seungkwan and Chan are next to each other, squeezing Minghao against the wall because there is simply not enough room in this table meant for fewer people.</p><p>This wasn’t how he planned his night to go, initially.</p><p>The moment he wrapped up his last class of the week, he called Seungkwan to ask if he wanted to go out, a plan already forming in his mind: go home, pre-game with his friends, and go out to forget himself, get a brittle semblance of normalcy. But Hansol told Minghao, and Minghao texted Mingyu <em>and</em> Seokmin. Even if he had told only one of them, it’d be the same as if he had told both because Mingyu <em>and</em> Seokmin are strings tied to each other in a perfect bow.</p><p>Chan grabs the plastic cup in front of him and drinks, but it tastes unusual, like cherry and orange peel. The bittersweet flavor makes him grimace, clicking his tongue to try to get rid of it.</p><p>“Hey! That’s not yours,” Seungkwan shouts in his ear, though it sounds like he’s talking in a normal volume. Everything is too loud to discern what’s normal and what’s not.</p><p>“I noticed,” Chan shouts back, and pulls a face just to spite him. They exchange drinks, but Seungkwan’s fruity drink is half-empty while Chan’s still intact. “Dance with me and I’ll get you another one," Chan says.</p><p>“Fuck no. Get me another one and I’ll <em>think</em> about dancing with you.”</p><p>Chan rolls his eyes but stretches his hand for Seungkwan to take. “Deal.”</p><p>It's easy to get lost but on his way there, his eyes land home. A caressing hand on a knee, an eye catching something out of place on Seokmin’s cheekbone and Mingyu’s thumb picking it up. They are louder than the staticky music coming from the sound system, resounding insistently in Chan’s ears.</p><p>Chan isn’t jealous, hasn’t been in a long time. But there’s an echo of a summer long gone reverberating against his ribcage and he wants out, wants something to dull the feeling.</p><p>The night and his plans laugh at him now.</p><p>This, he can take the blame for. He has assured his friends time and time again he was over it laughed it off because he was over it. Whatever <em>it</em> was.</p><p>He meant it, still does but sometimes it feels like a futile lie because there they are, all over each other, in all their glory, and here is Chan, downing poktanju, swallowing a different kind of envy, the familiar hunger that spikes when watching others feast.</p><p>Chan forces a smile. “Let’s dance?”</p><p>Maybe it’s because they’ve known each other for years and they know each other’s tells, or maybe it’s because Seungkwan simply noticed where his eyes were drawn to, but Seungkwan doesn’t say anything as he lets go of the straw in his red drink and takes his hand.</p><p>It’s easy to pretend that he doesn’t care, a trick he learned before his curse. It's even easier to dance, to move along to the rhythm of the music. Seungkwan sways with him and it’s enough for now. It has to be.</p><p>Chan knows this song by heart.</p><p>One drink and he laughs at Minghao's face when Seokmin joins them on the dance floor and unsurprisingly kisses his cheek. Two drinks and Chan closes his eyes, starts to really feel the music. Three drinks and he's not as drunk as he thought he'd be by now so he flinches when he feels unfamiliar hands on his hips. Four drinks and the truth blends into dancing with strangers and kissing one in the dark, lewd, distracted, and open-mouthed, more a mess than a kiss.</p><p>It's all he knows; watching and taking and dancing around what’s real. He wants out, he wants in, and before midnight, the fine line of what he wants gets blurry.</p><p>It passes on flashes, a lighting show of neon lights that ends the moment he loses count of how much he’s had to drink.</p><p>Someone hugs him from behind, arms wrap around his waist and a chin rests on his shoulder, Chan is about to pull away when he turns his face and sees who it is.</p><p>“Let’s go home?” Seungkwan asks and Chan wants to say <em>no, please, let’s stay for a little longer</em> but the club is losing rhythm and so are his friends.</p><p>He knows from experience he can say <em>no</em> and the nature of the curse wouldn’t let anyone complain much, he could say what he wants and people would look at the image they have created of him and say <em>okay</em> without thinking.</p><p>Chan has had a year to come to terms with being a fluke, an inevitable thing that gets its way. He has become so used to it that on some days, he forgets just how easily his friends give in, making it even easier to give in too. But on nights when Seungkwan looks at him like he’s holding all the truth, it comes rushing back to him.</p><p>The small kindness feels like a theft.</p><p>There isn’t a thing that anyone would say<em> no </em>to, if he simply asked because Chan is everything they want, he's perfect in his hidden imperfections. There is no hesitance in the way everyone always says <em>yes</em> to him, and he knows he should be more careful with the way he moves like he’s somehow bigger than his curse. He isn’t and that’s a sobering thought.</p><p>"Let's go home," Chan says and lets Seungkwan lead him outside.</p><p>It's colder than he expected it to be, reminding him why he hates winter. He wraps his arms around himself and sits on the pavement, not caring about ruining his jeans.</p><p>Hansol and Minghao huddle together for warmth, and Seungkwan complains about the brown boots Chan got him for Christmas for making his feet hurt. “Remind me to never wear these out dancing again,” he says, swaying a little.</p><p>“That’s what you get for wearing Chelsea boots,” Minghao says, head on Hansol’s shoulder, his words crispy through the fog of Chan’s mind.</p><p>None of them have full control of their movements, drunk and tired. They wait for a taxi outside the club alone except for a group of people on the other side of the road, coughing conspicuously and smelling a lot like weed.</p><p>Mingyu <em>and</em> Seokmin left earlier without any of them noticing, only left behind a text for Minghao, and disappeared for the night as they tend to do.</p><p>Chan tries to recall all the missing pieces, the people he’s danced with and how many drinks he’s had when something wet falls on his forehead. He looks up and a raindrop falls on his cheek. His hand follows its trace, his movements slow, and yet another brushes his middle finger.</p><p>The water becomes a hand, the night becomes day.</p><p>It was pouring.</p><p>Chan was soaked wet from head to toe, waterlogged shoes sloshing with every step, and he was on the other side of Seoul. His teeth stuttered and he wrapped his arms around himself, embarrassed at the looks he was getting.</p><p>The day was cold as it was long.</p><p>A coat was offered to him by an unfamiliar, familiar someone, delicate fingers accidentally brushing with his. “Sorry if this is weird but you’ll get sick if you don’t warm up,” the stranger explained shyly, holding his umbrella over the two of them with pale, shaky hands.</p><p>It was spring.</p><p>Chan blinks once, twice and the moment is gone. It’s night again.</p><p>“What the fuck?” Seungkwan exclaims to the sky rumbling with hunger as it starts to rain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>JANUARY 12th</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2021</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Stretching is an action meant to cool down the body and it was the second thing Chan ever learned, the first one was dancing. It’s everything Chan is, having grown in a practice room and watching his parents teach, passing down their love for dancing to others.</p><p>He followed their steps. Warm-up, dance, stretch, rinse and repeat. It was easy in ways everything else wasn’t. But these days he feels stuck, especially when he practices by himself. It’s always over too soon, his booked time runs out and he has to sit there alone with his reflection staring back at him as he stretches.</p><p>It gives his lungs a chance to slow down and return his breathing back to normal, but it goes hand in hand with everything everyone else is avoiding about him: flaws.</p><p>Chan has always been his own biggest critic but now he's the only one. Everyone else sees him and thinks <em>he can't do anything wrong in my eyes</em>, thinks <em>he's all I've wanted from anyone and mor</em>e, thinks <em>perfect</em>.</p><p>As unrealistic as it sounds, he wants to chase it, go up, up, up. Try again and again until he doesn’t feel so dissatisfied about everything he does but there’s a curse holding him down. All he’s been doing is look up, unmoving from his spot because the lack of criticism leaves no space for growth.</p><p>Every door is closed, every wall is a mirror and every spotlight is on his face. He's the performer and the audience, but he doesn’t know whose performance he’s watching or who is it for.</p><p>Being in front of a mirror is just a reminder of that, his thoughts bounce off the walls and he sits there, hoping they won’t hit him. He extends his legs as far as they would go and keeps his back straight as he reaches toward one of his ankles, and he holds.</p><p>"This may sound hard to believe, but there is such a thing as over-stretching," someone says behind him and his muscles tense at the sound of his voice.</p><p>Chan raises his face carefully, with precaution as if regarding an animal in the wild, and meets Soonyoung's eyes in the mirror. "How long have you been there?"</p><p>"Ehhh… Not much. I thought you were still going through your routine."</p><p>"I just finished." Chan looks up at the clock hanging on the white wall. Maybe he should have wrapped up ten minutes ago. "I'm sorry for taking your time, hyung," he says, slowly rising from the position on the floor.</p><p>Soonyoung waves him off, leaving his duffel bag next to Chan's. "Don't worry about it. I was actually hoping to see <em>you</em> but I guess I had no luck today," he pouts.</p><p>Chan has learned the awkward way that Soonyoung flirts as a way of talking with friends. At first, Chan hadn’t been sure what to do about it until he saw him around Seokmin and learned Soonyoung interacts with the world as if life was a performance, flirting with it, a certain charm that comes naturally to him.</p><p>But <em>this</em>, the way he watches him intently, feels deliberate.</p><p>They used to stand on equal ground with each other, back when Chan got a part-time job teaching at the studio where Soonyoung worked full-time, and there was a mutual understanding between them, an affinity constructed on top of their love for what they do.</p><p>One evening the studio was double-booked and they took the opportunity to watch and assess, take each other’s measure. They were equals in that moment, hungry little things excited to compete, to adapt, to evolve at the same pace. Soonyoung whistled as they wrapped up, impressed. "You'll surpass me in no time, might even take my position.”</p><p>“I will, just watch me,” Chan warned after taking a gulp of water, only half-joking.</p><p>Soonyoung laughed, always up for a challenge. “I won’t make it easy,” Soonyoung said and he didn’t. But it was fine, Chan didn’t want it any other way.</p><p>It’s hard to tell how Chan changed on Soonyoung’s point of view.</p><p>There was a shift in the way they circle each other, now being in a practice room with him is a reminder of the trap Chan led himself into. Soonyoung regards him differently; his eyes shine when they meet Chan's, something akin to hunger painting the irises a darker shade. What those eyes mean doesn’t matter when Chan knows why they look like that.</p><p>The predator became the prey.</p><p>Chan breaks eye contact but still treads carefully.</p><p>“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Soonyoung says behind him as Chan gathers his things. “Actually, I haven’t danced with you in so long, we need to change that soon. Maybe go out with Seokminnie sometime?"</p><p>He likes Soonyoung as a coworker and maybe as a friend, but he doesn’t want to find out what he sees in Chan now. So he lies. “I’d love that, hyung.”</p><p>Soonyoung shines even brighter and they trade empty promises to hang out, to reconnect but Chan can’t connect with anyone now. Not really, not like this.</p><p>It's starting to get darker and colder outside and despite every muscle in his body complaining, for a brief second, he wishes he stayed inside and let his curiosity ask what Soonyoung wants, what he sees in him. Maybe he could become it.</p><p>He toys with the idea sometimes, rolls it around in his mind when he feels so lonely and so positively unknown that it frightens him. If he wanted intimacy, he’d have to be seen—a privilege that was lost with his curse. It’s weird that he mourns it, he doesn't think he’s ever let himself have it.</p><p>This is what he chose, to be clay, spun and molded at everyone’s whims.</p><p>Loved by everyone, Chan is an illusion himself. The perfect lie personified that gets what it wants, has what everyone needs.</p><p>His legs are too tired to drag him back to his apartment, his mind feels like it’s trapped in a small mold. There’s a dull, hunger-like ache in his ribcage and he just wants to get home. A walk would give him too much time to think, so he takes a bus and watches the city and everyone in it pass him by.</p><p>Seoul is traced with experiences found in every nook and corner of it. An erratic city made of memories, changing from person to person with their perceptions of it.</p><p>His recollections transform places; the park where he loses time with his friends as the first flowers of spring bloom, the bus stop where he sits and waits late at night after class, his University campus where he learned some things are too fickle to control. Seoul is a map of blocks of memories, something Chan can positively call his own.</p><p>It can feel like home.</p><p>Just as he passes the Art Critics department building, Chan retrieves an event, coming in jigsaw-like pieces too scattered to make sense of at first, and misses his stop.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>JUNE 14th</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2019</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Humidity was a nuisance but it was also a warning, it made evident the rain that was about to come.</p><p>Chan was sure he'd catch a storm on his way to his dorm until he saw Mingyu about to get in his car and felt a wave of relief wash through him. He called his name and Mingyu looked up, smiling brightly when he saw him.</p><p>"Where are you going?" Chan asked, hoping for an invitation but careful not to sound too eager.</p><p>"To the Art Critics building," Mingyu said and Chan grimaced just at the idea. He simply preferred to avoid them <em>and </em>their building, and Mingyu nodded knowingly. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But I gotta find my advisor because for some reason he isn't replying to my emails even if I sent him like—" he counted with his fingers and Chan found his lisp so cute he didn't mind him going off on a tangent— "Four separate emails this last week alone. And I'm starting to like, freak out so my hyung will help me find my way around the building if I pay for dinner."</p><p>Chan looked at the slumped figure sitting on the front passenger seat, dressed all in black despite the weather. "Oh."</p><p>"Oh my god, it is not like that at all, take it back right now," Mingyu blushed as he shook his arms in front of him, and Chan laughed.</p><p>“Hyung, I didn’t assume anything.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, <em>good</em>,” Mingyu said and Chan tried not to read too much into it, but that was exactly what he did. “He’s just in a bad mood because he got a mild cold last week and I felt bad for asking more of him when he’s, you know, sick and studying for finals.”</p><p>Chan hummed in understanding but the sound was muted by a honk of a car passing by and someone yelling something in return.</p><p>“I can give you a ride home if you’re willing to wait in the car for a bit?”</p><p>“I’d love you forever,” Chan smiled. He stood next to the car, waiting for Mingyu to open the back door that only opened from inside, and then sat in the backseat.</p><p>"Hi, I’m Chan," he said politely as he put on the seatbelt.</p><p>Mingyu’s friend turned around in his seat, revealing a familiar face; pointy nose and tired eyes, a small rash on the corner of his mouth. "You're the umbrella guy," Chan said eloquently before the man could say anything else. There was a moment of silence and Mingyu looked back and forth between them, trying to get an idea of what had just happened.</p><p>"That'd be me… Yes," he said and gave him a polite smile, faking nonchalance. "Nice to meet you, Chan-ssi. I'm Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo."</p><p>Chan swallowed his words and gritted his teeth at the formality. Ridiculous. As if this complete stranger hadn’t seen him about to have a breakdown a week before and averted it himself.</p><p>Mingyu was clearly waiting for an explanation, a way into their silent conversation but Wonwoo patted his shoulder and told him he'd miss a class if they didn't rush. Mingyu started the car and drove as he complained about a final project for a class, filling in the empty spaces with his voice but it was obvious something was off.</p><p>Chan knew how to thread through awkwardness with his own deliberate words, grasping for harmony in the muted company of others, but this was different.</p><p>Wonwoo’s coat was still draped over Chan’s desk chair back in his dorm room.</p><p>The car stopped at a red light, and Mingyu didn’t say anything for a moment and Chan silently rolled the window down, feeling a little lightheaded. Wonwoo covered his face with his arm and sneezed softly, and the three of them fell back into silence but not for too long.</p><p>The quietness made Mingyu's gasp more prominent.</p><p>He met Chan’s eyes through the rearview mirror and made the entire ordeal even more awkward. “You are the cute boy that got Wonwoo hyung sick.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>JANUARY 13th</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2021</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It unnerves him, this not knowing if the silences in between conversation are uncomfortable or if it's just him.</p><p>The other sounds in Hansol and Minghao’s brightly-lit apartment are the noisy electric kettle and faint clicking sounds of cutlery coming from the kitchen, and a song with synthy twists and a slow tempo that mimics a clock playing on Hansol’s bluetooth speakers.</p><p>Hansol listens and hums when it matters, to let Seokmin know he’s listening as he talks about play rehearsals, and Chan wonders if Hansol feels the strained energy in the room too, or if it’s just Chan radiating it inwards. He seems unaware, red scissors in hand, lazily cutting cardstock. But that's how Hansol's like—always going with the flow.</p><p>Seokmin sighs, “This reminds me of my set design class, except there’s no one crying now.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound fun,” Mingyu says from the kitchen.</p><p>Minghao’s art supplies are scattered all over the table and Chan tries to reorganize them in a neat line, but this is the third time he’s done it. The line dissolves whenever Seokmin grabs something from it and decorates a letter with glitter, repeating the mistake of leaving containers half-opened over and over again. He works with the enthusiasm of a kid who just got a craft kit as a gift and Chan wouldn't normally complain but he doesn't want to have to replace anything ruined beyond repair.</p><p>Minghao told Chan he was in charge before he left them last minute to cover for someone at his job, “<em>Please</em>, don’t let these dumbasses break anything.”</p><p>He checks the decorative glitter containers are tightly closed when Seokmin leaves them carelessly on the table. Nothing is broken or ruined. Yet.</p><p><em>So far, so good,</em> he texts Minghao in what he hopes is actually mandarin. It must be because Minghao replies with a thumbs-up emoji, making Chan smile proudly.</p><p>A hand waves in his line of vision and Chan looks up from his phone. Seokmin’s eyes twinkle and he points the scissors at him, waving them in his direction. Chan would be scared if it was someone else. “Is our Channie talking to someone special?”</p><p>He wrinkles his nose. “God, no.”</p><p>Seokmin gets back to cutting cardstock like he knew the answer already, his hands moving with precision. He doesn't stay quiet for long. “I’m just asking 'cause Soonyoung asked me about you yesterday.”</p><p>"Okay..." Chan waits for more but he doesn't say anything. “And?”</p><p>“I invited him to Kwannie’s birthday?” It sounds like a question but Chan knows what it is. A warning.</p><p>His curse and the one who put it there laugh at him and Chan can’t help but join, chuckling at the absurdity of his life. Seokmin mistakes what it means and brightens up. Before he gets the wrong idea, Chan shakes his head slightly as he gets back to messing up the letter in front of him, just to have something to do. “I don’t wanna date anyone, hyung."</p><p>“I never said anything about dating."</p><p>"It was pretty much implied," Hansol says, his brow furrowing at the letter in front of him.</p><p>Minghao once made the observation that Seokmin was always kind, but not always good. He’d said it one night when he was dragged into a drinking game and noticed Chan giving Seokmin signals under the table because Seokmin refused to lose to Seungkwan. And he'd said it lovingly, in the affectionate way everyone speaks about Seokmin. But Chan didn’t get it back then.</p><p>He understands exactly what Minghao meant now.</p><p>“You don’t need to play matchmaker, you know?” Chan tells him.</p><p>“I am not.”</p><p>Mingyu comes back, holding a tray with four mugs on it. “You kinda are, baby,” he says and Seokmin repeats he isn’t. No one in the room seems to believe him, even Hansol has a smile on his face, watching the situation unfold.</p><p>Chan notices all of the mugs have coffee in them but he doesn’t say anything and takes one silently. Seokmin takes one too and regards him for a moment. ”Didn’t you have a crush on him?”</p><p>“What?” Chan snorts but when he looks at Seokmin, he notices he’s being serious. “<em>No?</em>”</p><p>It takes a moment for Seokmin to understand Chan is being serious too, and his face falls spectacularly in a way that'd be comical any other time. “Oh my god... I’m <em>so</em> sorry. I invited him because he mentioned you out of nowhere and you used to hang out with him all the time and I just thought—I’m sorry, I really am.”</p><p>“Hyung, what are you talking about?” Chan asks, thoroughly confused. He’s never hung out with Soonyoung outside of when they all went out a few times, and even then they barely talked to each other. “I’ve never been close with Soonyoung hyung.”</p><p>“You were before he graduated.” Mingyu chimes in and stops adding an impressive amount of sugar to his coffee, waiting for someone to back him up or argue with him.</p><p>“We weren’t,” Chan says, at the same time Hansol asks, “Who is Soonyoung?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter, I’m still so sorry,” Seokmin says and Chan knows he means it. Curse or not, Seokmin has always been painfully genuine. “I should’ve asked, I’m an idiot.”</p><p>Chan waves him off, tells him it’s fine. Not because it really is but because it’s him.</p><p>They all go back to cutting and decorating letters except for Mingyu. Minghao told him to bring his own pair of left-handed scissors but he conveniently forgot. He scrolls through his phone, occasionally showing them animal videos from his Instagram explore page, and Chan takes the opportunity. "Is Wonwoo coming to the party?"</p><p>It seems like the perfect moment to bring him up without anyone questioning his curiosity but Mingyu doesn't look up from his phone. "Hyung,” Chan calls again.</p><p>Everyone looks up and Mingyu notices Chan's eyes on him. "Sorry, who?"</p><p>"Jeon Wonwoo," Chan says and Mingyu opens and closes his mouth, a slack expression on his face.</p><p>"I have no idea who you're talking about.”</p><p>Chan tries to laugh but it dies halfway. “C’mon, don’t act funny now.”</p><p>“Is this a prank?” Mingyu asks, his eyes darting around the room. Hansol looks just as confused as him, mouth slightly open and eyes slowly going from Mingyu to Chan like he's trying to understand what is going on. Seokmin raises his arms as if saying he’s got nothing to do with what Chan is asking—because, well, he doesn't.</p><p>“Do you really not..." Chan starts to ask but it's starting to sound less of a question in his mind and more of an affirmation. <em>My hyung</em>, Mingyu had said before he put Chan in a really awkward situation. "Are <em>you</em> pulling a prank on me?"</p><p>Ignorance is bliss, some people say but it's never felt like that to him. Chan hates being kept in the dark more than anything else.</p><p>Mingyu snorts with laughter, a high, explosive sound. If he's laughing at the situation or at him, Chan can't tell.</p><p>"I have no idea who Wonwoo is," Mingyu says and Chan believes him. There are many things Mingyu is good at but he’s terrible at telling lies. If he was lying, the tip of his mouth would go up and he'd look around, checking if anyone noticed, but when Mingyu speaks this time, he's looking directly at Chan, a little confused, <em>laughing</em> around his words. Not a lie in sight. “I really don’t.”</p><p>Chan’s right leg starts to bounce up and down involuntarily, and he takes a deep breath.</p><p>There are things Chan knows and there are things that he pretends not to notice. There are also things that slip away from him, those annoy him the most.</p><p>Jeon Wonwoo and the art behind his disappearing act aren’t funny.</p><p>"You know what, never mind,” Chan mutters and it sounds harsh even to his own ears, but he doesn’t care. No one in the room seems to notice. He picks up the scissors in front of him and starts with a new letter. It’s already traced on the cardstock but in his haste, he still ruins it. </p><p>Before his curse, Mingyu would have scolded him for giving him an attitude, which would start a passive-aggressive argument that would end with Seokmin getting involved—not taking sides, but trying to appease them both—and Hansol getting slightly annoyed, but not much, just enough to ask if they even remember what they were arguing about in the first place.</p><p>They used to clash a lot, both of them too proud and loud but now, Mingyu pats Chan's cheek and tells him to stop acting weird, eyes shiny with something terrible.</p><p>His vision is damned, in every sense of the world.</p><p>Chan has tried to get a rise out of him before but it always ends with Mingyu apologizing and it makes him feel like he's going insane. So he keeps it down now, swallows his words.</p><p>It’s like this with everyone now. Chan can see them, talk to them, even touch them but he can’t reach them. His existence is as thin as a sheet of paper but he <em>is</em> here, despite everything. <em>I am here, I am here, I am here. </em>It repeats in his mind like a chant until the words lose all meaning.</p><p>Hansol meets his eyes and tries to ask him something without words but Chan has never been good at this type of communication. He's always preferred to state things loud and clear, it's just hard to get feelings across otherwise. It's even harder when you aren't being heard. But Hansol gets him anyway. “Do you want tea instead? I’m sure we have some jasmine tea bags somewhere in our cabinet.”</p><p>Chan looks down at his untouched coffee and then back at Hansol already getting up, and nods. “Thank you.”</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>Hansol comes back with a cup of jasmine tea with the perfect amount of sugar, and Chan drinks it, glad to have something to warm him up. The three of them send Hansol off to go get the fairy lights in his closet so he and Mingyu can hang them up while they try to fix the mess the banner has become. No matter how much he tried, Hansol couldn’t get the Y to stop looking like a four, and he <em>really</em> tried. Multiple times.</p><p>Mingyu and Seokmin leave eventually, after promising to come back the next day with Seokmin's rotating strobe bulb, and then it’s just Chan and Hansol cleaning up.</p><p>Chan washes the mugs silently, though he doesn’t mind the quiet now. It helps him think.</p><p>Hansol passes behind him, hands full of all the remnants of their arts and crafts session. “Is Wonwoo the same man from the bar?” he asks casually.</p><p>Chan freezes on the spot, hands still covered in detergent bubbles. Leave it to Hansol to be attentive when it matters. He doesn’t know how he reached that conclusion but he has a vague idea. Hansol may not be watching at all times, but he listens carefully with a sense of intuitiveness that eclipses Chan’s understanding.</p><p>He rinses his hands and dries them on his pants. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Hansol crouches down to close the trash bag. “That’s… weird.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>He thinks for a moment before explaining, “How do you remember him from before but you didn’t when you met him at the bar?” Chan frowns and is about to ask him to repeat himself but Hansol wins him to it. “You remember meeting him what—some time ago? But you didn’t recognize him on New Year’s Eve.”</p><p>Hansol states a fact but poses it like a question, waiting for an answer but Chan doesn’t have one. “Huh.” It’s all that he says.</p><p>Weird seems like an understatement.</p><p>Chan goes on about his day with the stranger in the back of his mind.</p><p>It results in a headache, and the first thing he does when he goes home is get under the comforting weight of his multiple bed covers and pillows. He hears Seungkwan come back from work, their front door opening and closing softly, and he hears his name being called but Chan stays quiet, and so does the apartment after that.</p><p>Once it's too late and too early and Chan can’t fall asleep, he gets a glimpse of his stranger. <em>Wonwoo</em>, throwing his head back and cackling loudly and himself, stupidly, impossibly, against all odds, leaning against him and laughing too.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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  <span class="small">if you're interested i wrote about my thought process while writing this chapter in a spoiler-free <a href="https://heartspound.dreamwidth.org/1399.html">dreamwidth post</a>!</span>
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        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">thanks to my two dear friends for patiently listening to me ramble whenever this story slipped away from my fingers and for always, always being kind to me - you know who you are, we're holding hands right now.</span>
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  <span class="small">thanks to the mods for all the work they put into this fest!!!</span>
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  <span class="small">and thank you for reading. kudos and comments are really appreciated! &lt;3</span>
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  <span class="small"><a href="https://twitter.com/heartspound">twitter</a> / <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/heartspound">curious cat</a></span>
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